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1860
“Lord Wellington, it is so good to meet you,” Alyssa said, summoning a smile
as she greeted the marquees. As she was coming out, there was no sense in
hiding anymore. She had been invited to tea at Lady Tinedale’s, and had been
only too happy to accept. For one thing, Eleanor Thompson was the first and
foremost lady of the ton, and if she approved of you, the ton did too. And
secondly, Alyssa welcomed any opportunity not to be alone with Stephan.
Since their fight, when she had refused to cancel her coming out ball, a
wall had grown between them.
“And you, Miss Richards. I have heard so much about you,” Lord Wellington said. Alyssa endeavored to look interested and gratified while really focusing on her impressions of the marquees. Who could be husband to a vampire. He was a middle-aged man, perhaps forty, though his wife, Alyssa had heard, had been a bit younger. He did not look like much of anything, though several older women had assured her he had been handsome in his day. His hair was entirely gray, and he looked much older than she knew he could possibly be. Tired too, and there was something in his eyes as he watched her . . . something measuring. Menacing.
“Really? All good, I hope,” Alyssa said sweetly.
“Quite good,” he said shortly. “Excuse me, I must go say hello to Lady Kilbourne.” Alyssa excused him with another smile, then frowned once he was out of sight.
“What is the matter?” a familiar asked from slightly behind her and to her right. Alyssa turned as quickly as only a Slayer could, suprising him slightly.
“Nothing is the matter Andrew. I am merely . . . tired,” Alyssa replied firmly. Andrew Lord arched his eyebrows expressively.
“Indeed? Well, I will not question it, but the last time Emily came from tea at your house she seemed quite worried. She would not tell me what the matter was,” he said, a tone of petulance entering his voice. His sister, who was less than two years younger than he, and he had always been close, and had shared all their secrets until Emily learned the truth about vampires. That was one secret she would not share.
Alyssa remembered Emily’s visit. It had been the day after her fight with Stephan. Alyssa had burst into tears in the middle of tea.
“Well I don’t know what it could possibly be,” Alyssa replied airily. “Is Emily here?”
“No. She said she had a headache, but I’m sure she was just trying to get out of such a boring affair. She didn’t know you would be here. Neither did I until a moment ago. I was in the middle of thinking how very lucky Em was, to stay home, and then I saw you with that look on your face . . .” Andrew trailed off.
“What look?” Alyssa demanded.
“A worried one,” Andrew replied promptly. “Come, you must tell me what is going on! It is not fair to have secrets!” Alyssa decided it was time to change the subject.
“Why did you come?” she asked suddenly. He blinked, then sighed.
“Lord and Lady Merist are supposed to put in an appearance, with their daughter,” Andrew explained in a sulky tone.
“The Townsends are coming? Cecilia too? Ooh, Andrew, you did not tell me! Now, when are you going to ask for her hand? I’m sure that’s what Emily is worried about, if she is worried about anything,” Alyssa lied cheerfully. Andrew wore a dark expression when she glanced at him and she hid a smile.
“If it were up to me I would have gone to Lord Merist weeks ago!” he said tightly. Alyssa’s eyes widened slightly.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.
“Cecilia thinks she can do better,” he muttered. Alyssa gasped, opening her mouth and then closing it. That someone would say that to a man that loved them . . . it was positively catty.
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it!” Alyssa exclaimed.
“Yes she does,” he replied. “She certainly does.” Alyssa never asked her next question, because that moment the very young lady in question entered the room, handing her wrap to a maid, her eyes searching the room. They found Andrew and stopped. For a long time. Alyssa knew she had lost the young man at her side. Totally lost. Not that she wanted him; but if she had she was out of luck. From the moment he saw Cecilia Townsend he was gone. And Cecilia, Alyssa thought, had the same reaction.
And then Lord Merist entered the room, and said something to his daughter. Cecilia looked away from Andrew, to her father, and did not look back. Andrew turned away, giving a low moan.
“I am such a fool!” he hissed. And, because his back was turned, he didn’t see the longing glance Cecilia cast at his back. But Alyssa did. And vowed to do something about it.
It turned out to be quite easy, as she was seated next to Miss Townsend during tea. Cecilia was a beautiful young woman; the premiere debutante of the ton, and an heiress with quite a substantial fortune as well as a title coming to her someday. Her long chestnut brown hair was up in the very latest style, a few ringlets framing her pretty face and sharp brown eyes. What Alyssa hadn’t known until she spoke to her was that Cecilia—beneath all the fluff of her manner—was intelligent as well.
“I hear you are coming out soon,” Cecilia said as they sat down to tea.
“Oh, yes. I am so excited! I have lived rather a sheltered life since my parents died, you know, and I am very glad to have the chance to come out at all, even if it is a little late,” Alyssa replied.
“Not too late at all. And you shall make a perfectly lovely debutante. Well, providing you know the rules of course,” Cecilia said, leaning in a bit.
“Rules?” Alyssa inquired. Cecilia tsked slightly.
“Let me give you the test. You may know them after all, and just not know what they are,” she pointed out. Alyssa nodded and Cecilia proceeded to quiz her on everything from what colors one could wear together to which poets to be enamored of and which to despise. When she was finished, Cecilia smiled and sweetly informed Alyssa that she would do very well in the ton. Alyssa had a sudden coughing fit. When she “recovered,” she told Cecilia that she had heard quite a bit about her.
“You have? From whom? I do hope it was all good,” Cecilia said, blushing becomingly.
“More than good. It was all extraordinary. Emily Lord and I have been good friends since childhood you know, and her elder brother Andrew talks about you almost constantly!” Alyssa said, smiling sweetly. Cecilia had gone very pale at the name “Lord,” and took a moment to recover.
“Oh. I see,” she said, seeming at a loss for words for a moment.
“Emily says you are nearly engaged! I think that is simply lovely! Andrew is such a nice young man. And very handsome. Quite a catch, I’d say. And he is so in love you. It is very romantic! So many matches these days are made for practicality, or money. I am so glad to see a true love match. You always hear poems about them, but they are so often disregarded in real life! So, tell me, are you going to have a June wedding? Next year of course, since you want a suitable period of engagement.” Cecilia looked a little stunned at all this, then stole a small glance at Andrew, obviously making a fool of himself on the other side of the table.
“June or May,” she said, turning back. “I have always liked May, really. But June weddings are all the fashion.” Buffy hid a triumphant grin, but when Andrew whispered the “news” to her as she was leaving, she let it show.
“She says yes!” he whispered. “I will speak to her father today! And he does whatever she wants him to! I am to be married Alyssa! She says yes!”
Stephan broke the cold silence of the carriage on the way home, asking what she was grinning about. Alyssa informed him of the imminent wedding, and described merrily the foolishness on both parts. He did not seem amused. She thought he was angry with her. He wished suddenly that she would act that foolishly over him. A silly, impossible dream, but he realized it was dream nevertheless. He wanted to marry. Her. And she sat there laughing about how silly people in love were. Perhaps she was right.
1998
Buffy opened the door to find Angel waiting, his typical melancholy
expression on. She glanced at her watch.
“You’re late,” she informed him. He looked almost frightened that she had found something to fault him with. No matter what she said, he couldn’t quite believe that she had forgiven him. Of course, the feeling was sort of mutual.
“It got dark late,” he said, as an excuse.
“I know. I just thought I’d freak you out,” she teased. He smiled reluctantly.
“Do you need your coat?” he asked. “It gets sort of chilly late at night.”
“No it doesn’t!” Buffy exclaimed. “This is the end of June in L.A. It never gets chilly. Besides, you can’t feel cold. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. And beyond that, we’re not going out tonight.” Angel blinked.
“We’re not? I’m sorry, I’ll go,” Angel said, turning away. Buffy stepped out of the doorway and grabbed his arm, turning him back to face her.
“You don’t understand. My dad’s on a business trip out of town this week. We’re staying here,” Buffy said firmly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Angel said, stiffening slightly. “You shouldn’t take chances Buffy.”
“Oh pish! I can take care of myself. And I don’t make the same mistake twice. So we’re staying here tonight, now com—” Angel interrupted her before she could finish her invitation.
“Buffy, you shou—”
“Come in!” Buffy cried, then smiled up at him pertly. “There, now it’s done. So you might as well get inside the house before all the cool air from the air conditioner escapes. Well, not that it matters to you, but I dislike perishing of heat stroke. Or I would, I think, if I ever tried it. We’re still on the porch. There’s something wrong with that.” Angel had no choice, so he stepped unhappily into Buffy’s house. Or her father’s house. It was, despite the weeks she’d been there, a man’s house. A bachelor’s house. Not, by any means, a wild, partying bachelor’s house—but it didn’t have the little touches that marked a home as having a female of the house.
“Is this where you grew up?” Angel asked, looking around.
“No,” Buffy said, closing the door behind her as she followed him in. “Dad sold our house and moved in here after the divorce. The old house was to big for one person, and it held some . . . bad memories. I wanted him to leave too, because the vamps all knew that house, and I wanted him to be safe. He has a spare room for me, but other than that it’s more of an apartment really.”
“This would be your living room,” Angel said, smiling slightly.
“Good guess!” Buffy exclaimed, then pointed into the adjoining room. “And that’s the kitchen. My room and my dad’s are through there, and my dad has an office over there. So . . . what do you want to do?” Angel blinked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t . . . hung out much lately,” he said. Buffy sighed.
“I knew there was something I needed to fix! Okay, let’s see, this is Wednesday—I know, Party of Five! It’s perfect!” Buffy exclaimed.
“What?” Angel asked. “What of five?”
“Party of Five. It’s a TV drama. Well, really a nighttime soap, but let’s not go into that. Sit there,” Buffy commanded, pointing to the sofa. Angel obediently sat. Buffy grabbed the controller and settled herself beside him, turning the TV on.
“Let’s see, Star Trek, Third Rock From the Sun . . . here we go! Okay, that’s Bailey, he’s the second oldest of this family of five kids. Their parents died a few years ago in a car crash and they’ve had to cope. That’s Sarah. She and Bailey went out for a long time, but then he became alcoholic and slept with his roommate—who, by the way, was a total bitch!—Sarah was obviously really mad—I mean, I would have been!—but when Bailey needed her to stop drinking she was there for him, and now they’re roommates. She’s still in love with him though, and he’s dating this bitchy alcoholic lady with like a seven year old kid! But her ex-husband just showed up last week and she might go back with him.
“Oh, here’s Charlie. He’s the oldest. That’s his stripper-girlfriend. He had cancer until a month or two ago, but he recovered and slept with this girl. Now she’s pregnant and he wants to have the kid, but it would sort of interrupt her career—well, you think?—and she doesn’t want to be a mom anyway,” Buffy exclaimed. Angel just smiled and nodded. And then Buffy leaned over and kissed him, in the middle of a sentence about Julia—the third eldest of the five. He kissed her back, deeply, thirstily. Buffy’s free hand—the one that wasn’t twined around his neck—turned off the TV. She dropped the controller and concentrated wholly on Angel.
When Buffy needed a breath they broke apart, but only a few centimeters. She breathed deeply while he looked into her eyes as if searching for something. An answer. A question. Forgiveness. She knew she gave the last, but she didn’t know if he could see it.
“How can you still love me?” he asked. She turned away abruptly—not the right thing to do, she knew . . . she should have kissed him and reassured him that she did, but she couldn’t, even if it was true.
“How can you still love me?” she asked bitterly, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently before he could see.
“How can I not? Hell is being without you Buffy. But that isn’t only my decision. It’s yours too,” Angel pointed out.
“I made it already!” Buff cried, jumping to her feet. She was suprised at her own vehemence, but somehow she couldn’t be quiet and soothing like she knew she should be.
“But are you sure you know what it was?” he asked softly.
“Yes! God damn you, yes! I love you Angel! Why can’t you just believe that? Am I doing something wrong? Do I act like I haven’t forgiven you? Do I seem like I’m lying to you and myself? What am I doing to make you doubt me so much!” Buffy cried, the tears coming now, for real.
“Nothing. You aren’t doing anything. It’s me I doubt. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve anything. The things I did . . . the things I said . . . They’re beyond excuse. And it was me. Angelus is part of me, always. Not only when I’m evil. He’s always there. I am Angelus,” he said harshly.
“No! I don’t believe that! You are Angel. My Angel. Yes, he’s part of you, but he’s not you. He’s you without a soul and as far as I’m concerned, the soul is the only important thing. You’re stronger than the demon, with a soul, and without one . . . you’re not you. You’re a part of yourself, not the whole. And I can’t hold the part that’s not responsible guilty—not when I love it so much! It’s your soul I love Angel! Not your body—though I admit it’s a nice bonus—but your soul. That’s who you are. I think I’d always love your soul, no matter what you looked like or where or when you were. Always. We were meant to be together, Angel. I believe that. Our souls are destined for each other. Yes, it’s caused a lot of pain for both of us, but that’s the way it is. Fighting that will only make it worse. We were meant for each other,” Buffy said, falling to a whisper at the end. She couldn’t turn to look at him. He didn’t move from his seat on the sofa. He wanted to. He wanted to go to her and hold her and tell her how right she was. Because she was right. But he couldn’t.
From the other end of the apartment there was a loud sound.
“The dryer,” Buffy said numbly. “I better go put the next load of laundry in.” She walked down the hall and out of view. Angel sat on the couch, strange thoughts invading his head.
When she came back in, she was considerably more calm. She paused at the doorway to the hall, leaning against the frame and watching him. He was so beautiful. But it was more than that. He could be the ugliest man alive and she would still love him. Well . . . probably. If he was the ugliest man alive she probably would never have talked to him and therefore wouldn’t know him to love him. But if he suddenly became ugly now she would still love him. Because his soul was beautiful too. Old and tired and tarnished, but beautiful still. She could see it in his eyes, just now, as he sat, lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Buffy asked quietly, starting towards the sofa. He looked up, as if startled to remember she was there.
“A girl,” he replied. Buffy made an offended noise and leaped over the back of the couch, settling next to him.
“Confession time! What girl and why were you thinking about her?” Buffy demanded, holding him with a cold stare. He repressed a smile, one corner of his mouth twitching.
“Her name was Alyssa,” he said. Before she could say anything he held a finger to stall her and continued. “I say was because she died over one hundred years ago. She was a Slayer. And I was thinking about her because she reminded me of you.”
“What do you mean?” Buffy asked.
“I never thought about it before, but now that I do I realize she was very like you, or you were like her or something,” Angel said.
“She was very like me,” Buffy said decidedly. He gave her one of his half-smiles.
“She did come quite some time before you,” he pointed out.
“So?” Buffy asked. He smiled again and continued.
“It was before I regained my soul. I wasn’t that old at the time, and still with Darla. And Spike—only he was William the Bloody then. He was younger than I, but as powerful I think. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s never been settled between me and Spike. Anyway, that was when I made Dru too. While Alyssa was the Slayer. And such a Slayer . . . I killed her parents when she was fourteen. The last Slayer had died a few months before, but she wouldn’t listen to her Watcher. She thought he was crazy. And then I killed her parents and almost killed her and a friend. I don’t remember the friend’s name . . .”
“So why is she like me?” Buffy asked, still slightly suspicious.
“She wanted a life. And her Watcher most definitely did not want her to have it,” Angel answered.
“Gee, where have I heard that before?” Buffy wondered. He smiled and went on.
“She wanted to come out,” he said softly, remembering.
“Come out?” Buffy asked. “What, was she like, lesbian or something? What are we talking about here?” Angel laughed then—softly, but it was definitely a laugh.
“No, no. In those days when a young lady of good birth was a certain age—say, sixteen or seventeen—they would go to London, have a ball to introduce themselves to Society—called a coming out ball—and then attend all the parties that the rich and the aristocracy threw during the summer. That was the standard way to get a husband, among other things,” Angel explained.
“Oh. So she wanted to go to parties and stuff. I can sympathize with that,” Buffy said, nodding.
“She fell in love with her Watcher,” Angel said softly.
“What? Well, that’s where the comparison stops!” Buffy cried. “Her Watcher? That is so . . . so . . . ucky!”
“He was about twenty five when she was seventeen,” Angel put in, trying not to smile to broadly.
“Oh. Well I guess that’s okay. But still . . . her Watcher? And I’ve never heard of a Watcher that young!” Buffy exclaimed.
“It doesn’t happen anymore. They’ve been careful since then to make sure it didn’t.”
“Why?” Buffy asked. “I mean, besides it being icky, it probably isn’t a bad thing. She didn’t have to worry about telling anyone, and it would be a lot easier if they could live together and everything. Not that I would ever contemplate it—I mean, my God, Giles—but . . . oh, now that is ucky! Mental image!”
“What?” Angel asked, beginning to get confused. She shook her head.
“Never you mind. You didn’t answer my question yet. Why don’t they have young Watchers anymore?” Buffy asked. Angel’s face went dark and she could feel him withdrawing behind a mask.
“Because of what they both did because of it. Because of what happened,” he replied in a blank tone.
“What? What happened?” But try as she might, she couldn’t get an answer out
of him the whole night.